road. There's a bush you can see just there. But you didn't
even get that far!' said the neighbour.
'You'd better stay the night. The women will make up beds for
you,' said the old woman persuasively.
'You could go on in the morning and it would be pleasanter,'
said the old man, confirming what his wife had said.
'I can't, friend. Business!' said Vasili Andreevich. 'Lose an
hour and you can't catch it up in a year,' he added,
remembering the grove and the dealers who might
snatch that
deal from him. 'We shall get there, shan't we?' he said,
turning to Nikita.
Nikita did not answer for some time,
apparently still
intent on
thawing out his beard and moustache.
'If only we don't go
astray again,' he replied
gloomily. He was
gloomy because he
passionately longed for some vodka, and the
only thing that could assuage that
longing was tea and he had
not yet been offered any.
'But we have only to reach the turning and then we shan't go
wrong. The road will be through the forest the whole way,'
said Vasili Andreevich.
'It's just as you please, Vasili Andreevich. If we're to go,
let us go,' said Nikita,
taking the glass of tea he was
offered.
'We'll drink our tea and be off.'
Nikita said nothing but only shook his head, and carefully
pouring some tea into his
saucer began
warming his hands, the
fingers of which were always
swollen with hard work, over the
steam. Then,
biting off a tiny bit of sugar, he bowed to his
hosts, said, 'Your health!' and drew in the steaming liquid.
'If somebody would see us as far as the turning,' said Vasili
Andreevich.
'Well, we can do that,' said the
eldest son. 'Petrushka will
harness and go that far with you.'
'Well, then, put in the horse, lad, and I shall be
thankful to
you for it.'
'Oh, what for, dear man?' said the kindly old woman. 'We are
heartily glad to do it.'
'Petrushka, go and put in the mare,' said the
eldest brother.
'All right,' replied Petrushka with a smile, and promptly
snatching his cap down from a nail he ran away to harness.
While the horse was being harnessed the talk returned to the
point at which it had stopped when Vasili Andreevich drove up
to the window. The old man had been complaining to his
neighbour, the village elder, about his third son who had not
sent him anything for the
holiday though he had sent a French
shawl to his wife.
'The young people are getting out of hand,' said the old man.
'And how they do!' said the neighbour. 'There's no managing
them! They know too much. There's Demochkin now, who broke
his father's arm. It's all from being too clever, it seems.'
Nikita listened, watched their faces, and
evidently" target="_blank" title="ad.明显地">
evidently would have
liked to share in the conversation, but he was too busy
drinking his tea and only nodded his head approvingly. He
emptied one
tumbler after another and grew warmer and warmer
and more and more comfortable. The talk continued on the same
subject for a long time--the harmfulness of a household
dividing up--and it was clearly not an
abstractdiscussion but
concerned the question of a
separation in that house; a
separation demanded by the second son who sat there morosely
silent.
It was
evidently" target="_blank" title="ad.明显地">
evidently a sore subject and absorbed them all, but out
of
propriety they did not discuss their private affairs before
strangers. At last, however, the old man could not restrain
himself, and with tears in his eyes declared that he would not
consent to a break-up of the family during his
lifetime, that
his house was prospering, thank God, but that if they separated
they would all have to go begging.
'Just like the Matveevs,' said the neighbour. 'They used to
have a proper house, but now they've split up none of them has
anything.'
'And that is what you want to happen to us,' said the old man,
turning to his son.
The son made no reply and there was an
awkward pause. The
silence was broken by Petrushka, who having harnessed the horse
had returned to the hut a few minutes before this and had been
listening all the time with a smile.
'There's a fable about that in Paulson,' he said. 'A father
gave his sons a broom to break. At first they could not break
it, but when they took it twig by twig they broke it easily.
And it's the same here,' and he gave a broad smile. 'I'm
ready!' he added.
'If you're ready, let's go,' said Vasili Andreevich. 'And as
to separating, don't you allow it, Grandfather. You got
everything together and you're the master. Go to the Justice
of the Peace. He'll say how things should be done.'
'He carries on so, carries on so,' the old man continued in a
whining tone. 'There's no doing anything with him. It's as if
the devil possessed him.'
Nikita having
meanwhile finished his fifth
tumbler of tea laid
it on its side instead of turning it
upside down, hoping to be
offered a sixth glass. But there was no more water in the
samovar, so the
hostess did not fill it up for him. Besides,
Vasili Andreevich was putting his things on, so there was
nothing for it but for Nikita to get up too, put back into the
sugar-basin the lump of sugar he had nibbled all round, wipe
his perspiring face with the skirt of his sheepskin, and go to
put on his overcoat.
Having put it on he sighed deeply, thanked his hosts, said
good-bye, and went out of the warm bright room into the cold
dark passage, through which the wind was howling and where
snow was blowing through the cracks of the shaking door, and
from there into the yard.
Petrushka stood in his sheepskin in the middle of the yard by
his horse, repeating some lines from Paulson's primer. He said
with a smile:
'Storms with mist the sky conceal,
Snowy circles wheeling wild.
Now like
savage beast 'twill howl,
And now 'tis wailing like a child.'
Nikita nodded approvingly as he arranged the reins.
The old man,
seeing Vasili Andreevich off, brought a lantern
into the passage to show him a light, but it was blown out at
once. And even in the yard it was
evident that the snowstorm
had become more violent.
'Well, this is weather!' thought Vasili Andreevich. 'Perhaps
we may not get there after all. But there is nothing to be
done. Business! Besides, we have got ready, our host's horse
has been harnessed, and we'll get there with God's help!'
Their aged host also thought they ought not to go, but he had
already tried to
persuade them to stay and had not been
listened to.
'It's no use asking them again. Maybe my age makes me timid.
They'll get there all right, and at least we shall get to bed
in good time and without any fuss,' he thought.
Petrushka did not think of danger. He knew the road and the
whole district so well, and the lines about 'snowy circles
wheeling wild' described what was
happening outside so aptly
that it cheered him up. Nikita did not wish to go at all, but
he had been accustomed not to have his own way and to serve
others for so long that there was no one to
hinder the
departing travellers.
V
Vasili Andreevich went over to his
sledge, found it with
difficulty in the darkness, climbed in and took the reins.
'Go on in front!' he cried.
Petrushka kneeling in his low
sledge started his horse.
Mukhorty, who had been neighing for some time past, now
scenting a mare ahead of him started after her, and they drove
out into the street. They drove again through the
outskirts of
the village and along the same road, past the yard where the
frozen linen had hung (which, however, was no longer to be
seen), past the same barn, which was now snowed up almost to
the roof and from which the snow was still endlessly pouring
past the same dismally moaning, whistling, and swaying willows,
and again entered into the sea of blustering snow raging from
above and below. The wind was so strong that when it blew from
the side and the travellers steered against it, it tilted the
sledges and turned the horses to one side. Petrushka drove his
good mare in front at a brisk trot and kept shouting lustily.
Mukhorty pressed after her.
After travelling so for about ten minutes, Petrushka turned
round and shouted something. Neither Vasili Andreevich nor
Nikita could hear anything because of the wind, but they
guessed that they had arrived at the turning. In fact
Petrushka had turned to the right, and now the wind that had
blown from the side blew straight in their faces, and through
the snow they saw something dark on their right. It was the
bush at the turning.
'Well now, God speed you!'
'Thank you, Petrushka!'
'Storms with mist the sky conceal!' shouted Petrushka as he
disappeared.
'There's a poet for you!' muttered Vasili Andreevich, pulling
at the reins.
'Yes, a fine lad--a true peasant,' said Nikita.
They drove on.
Nikita,
wrapping his coat closely about him and pressing his
head down so close to his shoulders that his short beard
covered his
throat, sat
silently,
trying not to lose the warmth
he had obtained while drinking tea in the house. Before him he
saw the straight lines of the shafts which
constantly deceived
him into thinking they were on a well-travelled road, and the
horse's swaying crupper with his knotted tail blown to one
side, and farther ahead the high shaft-bow and the swaying head
and neck of the horse with its waving mane. Now and then he
caught sight of a way-sign, so that he knew they were still on
a road and that there was nothing for him to be concerned
about.
Vasili Andreevich drove on, leaving it to the horse to keep to
the road. But Mukhorty, though he had had a breathing-space in
the village, ran
reluctantly, and seemed now and then to get
off the road, so that Vasili Andreevich had
repeatedly to
correct him.
'Here's a stake to the right, and another, and here's a third,'
Vasili Andreevich counted, 'and here in front is the forest,'
thought he, as he looked at something dark in front of him.
But what had seemed to him a forest was only a bush. They
passed the bush and drove on for another hundred yards but
there was no fourth way-mark nor any forest.
'We must reach the forest soon,' thought Vasili Andreevich, and
animated by the vodka and the tea he did not stop but shook the
reins, and the good
obedient horse responded, now ambling, now
slowly trotting in the direction in which he was sent, though
he knew that he was not going the right way. Ten minutes went
by, but there was still no forest.
'There now, we must be
astray again,' said Vasili Andreevich,
pulling up.
Nikita
silently got out of the
sledge and
holding his coat,
which the wind now wrapped closely about him and now almost
tore off, started to feel about in the snow, going first to one
side and then to the other. Three or four times he was